CarmeloOrchards
Crusader
Oh...sorry Carmelo...how's about Charles Osgood?
Face
I think I'm more like Sherman, along for the ride
but my favorite read was for decades the daily column in the San Francisco Chronicle of Herb Caen
This was printed as letters to the editor after Herb died. His funeral was broadcast on TV. I was glued to the TV, and cried my eyes out.
A Man, a City, an Era
The news of Herb Caen's death set off an avalanche of farewells and remembrances almost beyond counting. Here are a few.
Sunday, February 9, 1997
Editor -- Herb Caen is dead. For San Franciscans those words are like ``great stones falling in the sea.''
If Thucydides was the historian of Athens, and Cicero of Rome, then Herb Caen was the historian of San Francisco.
Over and above the grace and skill of his words, there was at the heart of his work a moral mission. He saw San Francisco as a polis, a commonwealth of citizens, where even the least had a part, and all had a concern for the whole -- the common good.
That mission may be dead. Certainly it is dying. But for many of us, while Caen lived, that vision endured.
Farewell, Herb Caen, farewell. We knew and loved you well. Your like -- as a man, as a writer -- shall not pass this way again.
Alan Van Fleet San Francisco
Editor -- Naming the Embarcadero walkway in Herb Caen's honor was a nice salute, but the founders of San Francisco really beat everybody to the punch. With astounding foresight, they first named the new place Yerba Buena . . . Good Herb.
Thomas F. O'Leary Santa Cruz
Editor -- To longshoremen, stockbrokers, society matrons, waiters, hookers, cabbies, skid rogues, Herb was a distant relative welcomed into our hearts and homes. A daily reminder of the magic of our beloved city.
Like the Barbary Coast, the White House, the Pig and Whistle, the City of Paris, the Washington- Jackson cable car, the horse- drawn produce cart in Pacific Heights, the old ``B'' car to the fun house at the beach and the ferry boats, Herb Caen will remain very much with us, hiding out there somewhere in the foggy mist.
Leo Merle Sonoma
Editor -- It was Herb's town. Not Willie's, Dianne's, Harvey's, Eddie D's, Quentin's, Wilkes', Gordon's or Harry's . . . Oh, Joe Montana came close, but, in the end, it was always Herb's town.
I've grown up reading him every day. Here was a guy who really understood San Francisco, with the passion of a hopeless romantic, and he articulated so well that mystical, endearing uniqueness about her that captures hearts worldwide. He continually amazed me with his remarkable ability to poetically express her magic and her beauty.
And now . . . what? Collectively, we can sense that we've lost something central, something very close to the heart and soul of our city. Such a void! Our moral and civic rudder has departed our ship, perhaps to help guide Heaven's ark, but who will make some sense of the tangled web of the world?
We have lost our Great Describer. He put It in perspective and helped us move on. He named the unnamed. He was the big glue stick that bonded our city together.
Now, there is only silence, and the painful daily reminder that there will be no more Herb Caen columns. It is the end of a long and brilliant chapter in San Francisco's storied history, and already I miss it terribly.
Good night, Uncle Herb. Your profound love for San Francisco will always be mutual . . .
Brad Kopp San Francisco
Editor -- A few years ago, we engineers changed the name of the unit of measurement ``Cycle'' to ``Hertz'' and centigrade to ``Celsius,'' both to honor pioneers in the relevant fields.
I believe that the field of journalism can do no less. I suggest that the three dots . . ., now called an ellipsis, be renamed a ``Caen.''
Walter E. Wallis Palo Alto
Editor -- Although he eschewed the word processor and computer for his trusty Royal typewriter, Herb Caen nevertheless created perhaps the first virtual community, a place where the average person could share insights into the political machinations of a great city, rub elbows with the social elite, eavesdrop on conversations at gala events and enjoy a droll chuckle over an anecdote proffered by one of the many local boulevardiers with whom Herb Caen walked the night.
At the same time, his column was interactive and accessible, and ephemeral fame awaited those who could decipher a cryptic license plate, or report a cute business name or discover a foot doctor named Toe.
Herb Caen's world was a pre-Gates Internet, a boundless weave of information that reduced the metropolitan sprawl of the Bay Area to an intimate, personable village.
Robert Brennan Fairfax
Editor -- One of my earliest memories of living in San Francisco was riding the 21 Hayes bus to work in the mornings in the late '60s in a sea of commuters with their Chronicles folded back to Herb Caen's column.
Who wanted to start their work day without the latest scoop on the world by the man who seemed to be in touch with everything and everybody in at least the Bay Area?
About 20 years ago, my wife and I were shocked and delighted to see him in full tuxedo with a much younger woman on his arm, going into a Merle Haggard concert, of all things. Seeing Herb Caen was worth the price of the ticket, and Merle Haggard was a delightful addition.
We read later (in his column, of course!) that he loved the concert, and the tux was because he had just come from a reception for Francois Mitterrand across the street from the concert hall. Wow! From ruling class to the poet of the common man, all in one night.
We'll miss starting our day with Herb Caen's column.
Steve Wagner Oakland
Dear Herb -- I thought God was going to make an exception in your case.
Bryan Nobles Prather (Fresno County)
Editor -- Mr. Caen leaves us a singularly lovely gift, the charge to now be present and paying attention as he did to the mysteries of the City.
He railroaded his way into our collective psyche by insisting that just the other side of every Victorian facade, behind every cement artifice, beneath every supernaturally splendid sky, lay layers and layers of juicy, irresistible, necessary stories. He took us into all corners. He unapologetically told us we matter to one another.
Surely after 60 years of Mr. Caen's example, we can carry on his tradition of hilarity, a bit of the jaundiced eye, a heap of wonder, and an insistence on the communal value of curiosity, tenderness and facts handed over -- of the necessity of gossip with a pulse.
It is up to us now to ferret out the kindnesses and foibles of strangers, and to share these discoveries with other strangers. It is up to us now to notice one another, to seek each other out and expect to find the stories he would tell.
We must give back to him and to ourselves what he taught us. The more fine stories we expect to find, the more we pry out and give away, the more will come our way.
Heather Baird Donovan San Francisco
Editor -- Having just finished your deeply moving Herb Caen issue, I now sit at my computer, teary-eyed. I'd read all his columns since 1946, when I first came to his city; even was mentioned by him a few times.
Once, during a debate between Jerry Rubin and Abbie Hoffman of the Chicago Seven, he was sitting next to me. Overwhelmed by my good fortune, I blurted out, ``I'm Jonas Harschel!''
``Jonas C. Harschel,'' he said, leaving me too flabbergasted to respond with anything rational -- of all the people he'd dealt with over the years, how could he possibly remember that? Then I couldn't stop talking, made a total ass of myself.
The next day I appeared in his column again, but this time as ``the man sitting next to me.'' No name, not even the ``C.''
And now I'll never have the chance to tell him how sorry I was, still am, to have intruded into his life with such rude disregard for his privacy.
Jonas C. Harschel Burlingame
Editor -- I want to say goodbye to Herb Caen. We were classmates at Sackamenna Hi, where he began his writing career.
The column in the weekly school paper, ``Corridor Gossip,'' was one we all eagerly awaited, to see what he had to say about our friends or (hopefully) us.
I've read lots of his one-liners over 62 years; the one I cherish most wasn't followed by three dots. When he returned to The Chronicle after his brief defection to Brand X, I wrote to welcome him back.
His note of reply ended with the memorable, ``Glad to be having breakfast with you again.''
So now it's back to lonely breakfasts. So long, Herb.
Frank R. Dutra Saratoga
Editor -- Ellipsis . . . will always mean ``something's missing'' -- our friend, Herb Caen.
Gar Smith San Francisco
Editor -- As one who grew up in Oakland hating Herb Caen (how dare he make jokes about my town!), but who wound up imitating him in S.F. State's Daily Gator, and who had the great fortune to know and work with him at The Chronicle and elsewhere, I propose a three-dot salute:
. . . Herb Caen was the best model there ever was for a budding writer. He wrote with a natural grace and wit, and with punch and poetry that perfectly reflected his readership. He inspired as he entertained. He was equally adroit at high praise and withering put- down, and always made himself the biggest punching bag of all.
. . . Herb Caen was a great model for a human being. I remember being amazed to receive a note from him in response to an item I'd submitted. Over the years, I learned that this was simply a gentleman's M.O. You took the time to write to him; he took the time to write back.
. . . Herb Caen was a perfect model for the concept of having fun. Not only was he a lock to be at any happening event in town, looking for items, he enjoyed himself on stage, playing breezy jazz drums.
We shared various stages over the years, him doing his Krupa, me my Elvis. On stage, he never tried to show off. He was just enjoying playing something besides his Royal. He was doing it for the sheer fun of it. He was totally at home.
From three dots, three lessons for life. Thank you, Herb . . .
Ben Fong-Torres San Francisco
Editor -- On the occasion of Herb Caen's 80th birthday, I sent a congratulatory huzzah via The Chronicle, ending it with ``Vivat Herb!'' His response reflected his joyance over my tribute, as well as his enormous appreciation of the public acclaim he had received.
He was my friend for 40 years, and I shall mourn his loss for many a moon.
For the City, however, the loss is simply irreparable. The San Francisco he knew and loved, and which I was fortunate enough to catch a brief glimpse of, had largely vanished in recent years, and his column had come to represent the last leaf on the vine.
Gone long since are Trader Vic's, the Old Poodle Dog, El Prado, Jack's, La Bourgogne, Romanoff's, the City of Paris, the Grand Central Market, the grandeur that was Gump's -- and Paul Smith, Lucius Beebe, Charlie McCabe, et al., among the charms and characters of the City just the day before yesterday.
And so we bid a sad farewell to Herb and the wonderful town he lived in.
Vale, Herb! Joseph J. O'Donohue IV San Francisco
Editor -- I will miss Herb. He had the twinkliest eyes, the readiest smile and the twiggiest legs on the tennis court.
Maggie Eastwood Pebble Beach
Editor -- Even though we knew it was coming, I still can't believe it. Herb was just Caenpletely unique.
Strange de Jim San Francisco
Editor -- After reading all the wonderful tributes to Herb Caen, I am left with one nagging question:
Who was Strange de Jim?
David Lytle San Rafael
Editor -- ``As for why I'm picketing, I'm out there for Kirt, Steve, Johnny Lee, Myrtle Shaw, Charlie Crawford and a lot of other people I worked with at the Sacramento Union from '32 to '36 in the pre-Guild days.
``We worked six days a week, no overtime, no benefits, no protection from on-the-spot firings and primitive working conditions. I said `Hallelujah!' the day I joined the Newspaper Guild on July 1, 1936, and I say it again.
``Hallelujah!''
Herb Caen wrote this in the Thursday, Nov. 10, 1994, issue of the San Francisco Free Press.
The rank and file at large mourn the passing of one good union man.
Kimberly A. Shanahan Pacifica
Au revoir, Herb -- Many thanks for decades of reading enjoyment.
Watch out for da coive.
George and Ruth Sanders Saratoga
n the same page
Editor -- Having not had the pleasure of meeting Herb Caen personally, I can only assume what his reaction might have been to the discreet sendoff his old pagemate, Macy's, had for him in Monday's edition.
A full-page, red lingerie-clad vixen with a knowing smile in the middle of all those Caen tributes no doubt has Herb pounding out a number of clever Caen-isms on his old Royal right now.
Does Heaven have access to e- mail?
Mary Jane Call San Francisco
Editor -- We lost our leader. What a strange and mournful day. Now I know how Deadheads felt when Jerry Garcia died. Herb, thanks for making all the world seem like a summer day.
John Robertson San Francisco
Editor -- ``All at once, a city had stopped smiling.''
I first read Herb Caen when I was 16. JFK had just been killed and I was a lost soul. Mr. Caen's column helped gentle the rage I felt, helped order the chaos surrounding me.
I've read his column ever since.
I will miss you with all my heart, Herb, but thank you for all the days you gave me.
Romy Hallmark Menlo Park
Editor -- It was with great sadness, shared with so many, that I heard of the passing of Herb Caen. My own father, a year older than Herb, passed away last October. He, like Herb, came to the City in the mid-'30s, in my father's case, from Salinas (he grew up a couple of blocks from John Steinbeck's house), and worked in the Financial District both before and after World War II.
It is the passing of a generation: hard-working, optimistic, self-effacing, and in love with the beauty, the culture and the vibrancy of San Francisco.
From a time when the Russ Building was the tallest in the City, when the men wore hats and the women worked the shipyards for the war effort, San Francisco has grown from a port city and workingman's town to a financial and services powerhouse, with a skyline to match.
But in spite of it all, we'll always see the City for the jewel that it is, thanks to Herb Caen.
And some night, when the fog rolls through a back street in North Beach, when the light from the streetlamps diffuses in just a certain way, when the first smell of freshly baked sourdough wafts over the damp, early morning sidewalk, we'll remember the San Francisco of Herb Caen and my father and all those of their generation who loved this city so deeply, who never for a second imagined that there might ever be anywhere else worth living.
Tom Snell San Francisco
Dear Herb Caen -- You taught a lot of people how to live, how to write, how to enjoy the City of Our Eternal Choice.
Now rest in peace, Mr. Caen, in God's eternal favor . . . and He will add a fourth dot for a completed journey.
Jeff Cohen Sackamenna
Dear Herb -- What sad news to hear that you've passed through the Golden Gate for the last time. Of course, you hooked many a soul with your love of Baghdad by the Bay in column after column. I am one of those willing converts.
The city was the glass, the fog and sun poured in the elixir, but it was you O Herb who kept the drink stirred, and the glass never went dry . . . til now. Whatever will we do?
Mark Graves Marietta, Ga.
Editor -- Herb Caen dead? Nah -- never.
Agar Jaicks San Francisco
Editor -- I was devastated to hear of Herb Caen's passing. Please extend my condolences to his loved ones.
Several years ago, my disadvantaged students at Vacaville High and I were reading the column, because of an interesting item, when one of my students spotted a typo ``alot.'' They insisted on writing Mr. Caen. The letters were awful -- filled with errors themselves, but I sent them.
It didn't take long for Mr. Caen to respond in such a supportive, gentlemanly way that my students and I were very touched. Now, whenever my students struggle with their writing, I read that note to them.
Another of my students met Mr. Caen at Don Johnson's 50th birthday party. When she told him that he had used one of my anecdotes in his column, Mr. Caen said, ``You tell your teacher to keep up the good work!'' Wow! What a compliment.
I was lucky myself to have been mentioned in Mr. Caen's column a couple of times. That was better than 15 minutes of fame or winning the lotto. I, along with millions of others, will miss him terribly.
Diane Stadler Vacaville
Editor -- While we all mourn the loss of the incomparable Herb Caen, it is fitting -- if not compelling -- that we extend deepest sympathy to Carole Vernier and to Jerry Bundsen, Herb's longtime and indispensable aides. Their loss must be incalculable.
Dick Alexander El Granada
Editor -- Herb Caen's final word in his final column was ``freedom.'' His life and columns marked a daily devotion to freedom and all that it means in San Francisco.
For generations, San Francisco has been a beacon for those arriving from other lands seeking freedom, and from across our land seeking the most important personal freedom -- to start their lives afresh.
The young Willie Brown, the young Herb Caen, the young Harvey Milk came to San Francisco in different times, but all found their dreams here. They demonstrate that what binds us is far more important than what separates us.
Herb Caen -- a true San Francisco Giant!
John Trasvina Washington, D.C.
Editor -- I grew up with Herb.
He helped teach me to read, as his column became part of my repertoire at the tender age of 4.
He also traveled around the world with me a couple of times. During my four years aboard the USS Coral Sea (San Francisco's own), my father sent me weekly bundles of The Column. It lightened my load considerably -- as well as interjected much-desired sweetness and light into my existence.
I was driving on 580 from Livermore to Martinez when I heard the news on NPR Saturday. My tears flowed unbidden -- and unashamedly -- all the way to Martinez, where, upon my arrival, my partner joined me in grieving for our personal and communal loss. After a bit, we repaired to a local bar for a Stoli martini in Herb's honor.
Gentle hand-holding and reminiscing of how our lives have been entwined with Herb's musings flavored the heart-felt ritual. Only our now-adult sense of decorum precluded our throwing the empty glasses against the mantle in ancient mariner's tribute . . .
Thank you, dear man, for so long sharing with the world the humor and intelligence you possessed. We are far richer for your having done so.
Michael E. Miller Livermore
Editor -- I never met Herb Caen.
I didn't need to.
I would just stroll through San Francisco.
Denny Heltzel Hayward
Editor -- A family tradition ended when Herb Caen passed away. Reading Caen's column was a family tradition started by my grandmother, Lois Claushen, continued by my mother, Anne Pelletier, and passed on to me.
Though I am just a college undergrad, I already have years of Caen under my belt. I've been familiar with the Loyal Royal and all the Caenfetti since I could remember picking up The Chronicle for the first time. He was part of my morning routine and he was the conversation between my mother and I at the end of the day.
Caen was my connection to the Bay Area, both away at college in Davis and below the border in Mexico. He gave me news of my beautiful Baghdad by the Bay. He made me laugh, always seeing the irony and the zaniness in things, poking fun at the place I call home -- Marin.
Maybe most of all, now that I look back on my love affair with Caen's columns, I see what his real role in my life was. He was a generational link between my grandmother, my mother and I.
Just as San Francisco belonged to Herb, Herb belonged to us. I'm going to miss him. I guess we all knew that the early mornings with a cup of coffee and Caen weren't going to last forever, but wouldn't it have been nice?
Nikki Pelletier Fairfax
Editor -- When I first came to San Francisco in 1969 I lived on 3rd Avenue and Hugo in the Sunset. I worked on Kearny Street. So every morning I'd jump the N Judah and head downtown. Of course, when I left for work it was almost always foggy. Very often though, by the time I got off the streetcar at Market and Third Street, it was sunny. It took me months to realize that change in weather was due to a change in location, not to the time of day.
It was on those streetcar rides that I discovered Herb Caen's column. It was incomprehensible to me at first, not unlike San Francisco's microclimates . . . full of names I didn't recognize . . . bizarre punctuation . . . like nothing else I'd ever read. Still, wherever I went I kept hearing about ``Herb Caen.'' ``Did you read Herb Caen today?'' ``What a whacko. I think she does all that stuff hoping to make Herb Caen.''
The twisted sayings of Strange de Jim fascinated me: ``Being a triplet is like having two twin siblings, neither of which is you.'' I kept on reading HC until I got addicted.
Then, during the holiday season of 1991, when I was going through a divorce, driving a cab and feeling horribly depressed, I had an inspiration. I'd give a gift to San Francisco. From a place of abject misery, I'd do something grandiose and spectacular. Maybe that'd help me feel better.
I decided that, on December 24, during my regular shift, I'd give free rides to anyone who got in my cab. Furthermore, if I got any tips, I'd split them evenly and give half to St. Anthony's and half to the AIDS Foundation.
Then I thought, what good would it do to keep such generosity to myself. I've got to tell Herb Caen. I called his office, the phone trembling in my hand almost as badly as my voice was trembling in my throat, and told my story to Herb's assistant, Carole Vernier. She was delighted. ``What a great story! I'm sure Herb will love it,'' she said. ``We'll put it in.''
The item ran the next day. Following that, KCBS called me for a phone interview. From that I got a call from Channel 7 who wanted to to get some tape for the Christmas Eve 11 o'clock news. It was my 15 minutes.
But that wasn't the end of the story. The father of a friend of mine (who happened to be bankrolling his small record label) saw the Herb Caen article pinned to my friend's refrigerator. ``Who's this guy?'' he asked. My friend told him the whole story and from that I got hired to publicize the record company. I got out of the cabbie trade, got started in a whole new line of work and I haven't looked back.
Herb Caen not only enriched my life, he changed it. Thanks, Herb . . . and goodbye.
Ray Staar San Francisco
Editor -- Herb Caen is dead and there's not a dry martini in the house . . . Here's to you, Three-Dot Daddy-O.
Kent Wallace Mendocino
Dear Herb -- Where'd you go?
Was simply stunned when I first heard -- from my father -- that you'd passed on. Where could you possibly go, you who'd told us that Heaven would be great but could never top the City?
I never got to meet you. Didn't even make it out to your Day in June. But I felt like I knew you. I started writing a column in my school newspaper back in seventh grade (I'm in ninth now) . . . and yours was my inspiration. I was the layout guy for the paper, too, so I made sure I always took a column and a half on the left side of the page.
I remember when you got your ``Pullet Surprise.'' And your 80th birthday tribute. And your marriage. And I remember sitting at the breakfast table last May, absolutely rocked, yet sitting verrry still, when I read that you had cancer. It was like a dream. It's like a dream today.
I knew it when you got your own day and your own street, and when, last night, all the news shows did such long tributes to you, and the president was even quoted, that you, my friend, really lived a hell of a life.
What am I doing, you ask, writing to a dead guy? I don't really know. But this isn't a waste of time. I'll miss you, Herb. Everyone will. I'm sure you know that.
Jonathan Cowperthwait Castro Valley
Dear Herb -- But, wait! Wait! I gotta item. Cuuute firm name. Skateboard shop in Santa Barbara called The Church of Skatan. Now, that's an item, right, Herb? Herb?
Dan Robertson Crockett
http://sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/1997/02/09/SC59563.DTL
This article appeared on page SC - 1 of the San Francisco Chronicle
Clam chowder, lobster rolls, crabby patties and sushi might fit in with that scheme...lobster plate lunch.... hum....
What we don't want is the riff-raff crowding out our treasures 
We want to keep our treasures uncrowded and un-sullied 
